


i'll practice my patience while you're getting wasted (till fate brings you home)

by fantasize



Category: Never Have I Ever (TV)
Genre: Accidental Friends With Benefits, Benvi, Bevi, F/M, Kind of humorous, Post canon, adult benvi, because i get too uncomfortable writing things like that, but don't do drugs or drink too much kids!, but there is a bunch of insinuations, i love my babies too much to stop writing about them, it's like a roommate au but without the emotional development, lots of substance use here, not slowburn obviously, there's no actual smut here teehee, wtf is this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-06
Updated: 2020-11-06
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:35:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27419650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fantasize/pseuds/fantasize
Summary: The next time he recovers consciousness is when it’s gotten a smidge brighter outside. He’s still dazed and heavy tongued, head throbbing like a motherfucker, and momentarily considers the possibility that he’s dreaming when he feels Devi’s bare skin pressed up against his side.It hits him like whiplash.“Oh no,” he mutters when he pries his eyes open, cocking his neck to peer at a very clearly unclothed Devi snoring next to him under the covers—much to his horror, his clothes are also tossed onto the floor.“This didn’t happen,” Devi says ten minutes later, when she's awoken by the screaming. He doesn’t have time to notice how she stirs quickly, as if she’s been shocked awake by lightning, immediately scrambling up while pulling the blanket up with her—there are more important things to worry about.Like this.or; six years after high school, devi moves in once again, and ben comes home from a party one night to enthusiastic happenings in his bed. things get worse from there.aka; never let your childhood frenemy/crush/an-amalgamation-of-both move in.(title from 'phases' by prettymuch)
Relationships: Ben Gross & Devi Vishwakumar, Ben Gross/Devi Vishwakumar
Comments: 10
Kudos: 110





	i'll practice my patience while you're getting wasted (till fate brings you home)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [flashlightinacave](https://archiveofourown.org/users/flashlightinacave/gifts), [rainydayscribbles](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rainydayscribbles/gifts).



> 1) this is short and lacking any actual character development or cameos from the other characters... but i wrote this in one night while i was sad and stressed over my exams to cheer myself up. needless to say, it worked :D
> 
> 2) this is so all over the place. also, my writing is much more direct in this one, mainly due to lack of time, but i actually kind of like the simple style. hm.
> 
> 3) i don't even know if this is in character but again, completely self-indulgent on my part. lol.
> 
> 4) although this is admittedly a raunchy plot (esp for me... i can't even write a kiss scene without banging my head against a wall), it has no actual... smut. sorry guys. leave it to the pros, i'm just embarrassingly unable to write anything of the sort.
> 
> 5) this one's for leila and arya, two of the most sweetest and talented nhie writers, who always encourage me and support my fics. which is insane, because their fics are fucking amazing and god-tier. 
> 
> anyways. i edited this like, once (the same day i wrote it, helppp) so ignore any typos. enjoy <3

“Godfuckingdamnit.”

It’s rather weird, the situation Ben’s found himself in. Twenty-something years old, joints aching, forehead creases, a five o’clock shadow that he can't get rid of— yet his throat is still going dry at the sight of Devi.

She shows up to his doorstep in the middle of the night (very _Devi-like_ of her to do so) and asks, no, _demands_ that he let her inside, even though it’s been more than six years since high school ended and their camaraderie as enemies/frenemies/a-little-more-than-friends/just-friends/peers has dwindled down to almost nothing. Growing up does that to you. Sends you apart, like two branches on a tree starting from the same point and ending up in different directions. 

Sometimes, the normalcy of a relationship you have with someone (be it platonic, romantic, or the odd mix of both—which seemed to be the label for… whatever he had with Devi after kissing her in Malibu) lulls you into mundane complacency. So much so that eventually, you find yourself going on different paths, different lives.

But if Ben is being completely honest, he never really _wanted_ to grow apart from Devi. He never wanted to go from bickering with her everyday in class to only texting each other 'happy birthday' and 'merry Christmas' whenever the date demanded it over Instagram. 

In that sense, he never _really_ grew apart from Devi.

Regardless, it’s quite absurd when she pushes past him and directly into his house, not even giving the idea of manners a second thought.

“What are you doing here?” he asks eventually, because although he's one for being patient, his so-called _vessel_ of patience has long run dry.

Devi makes herself comfortable on his couch, as she brazenly says, “I got evicted.”

He guffaws. “What?!”

“My stupid fucking roommate did some hard drugs in our apartment while I was visiting home. Doing hard drugs goes against our landlord's rules. Anyways, she stunk up the whole place with meth or heroin, I don’t fucking know. Either way, I’m fucking pissed.”

“Yeah, I can tell by the amount of curse words you’ve dropped in one breath,” he replies, trying to fight back a yawn at the same time. 

She scoffs. “Anyways. I needed some place to go, but Fab and El are already living with other people and—I don’t know. Guess I just didn’t know anyone else in the city other than you.”

Ben gulps. “Uh, your Mom perhaps?”

Devi peers up at him, glaring pointedly, and the expression sends him back to grade school. “Living with her? Again? Please, _god,_ no. I’ve already been through eighteen years of that.”

“Kamala?”

“She has Prashant,” she replies. “And a kid.”

 _Oh,_ Ben mouths. He’s not sure whether to be disappointed or angry or confused—actually, maybe confused is a fitting adjective. To be fair, he’s practically still half asleep, and the fact that Devi Vishwakumar, out of everybody, is apparently going to be living with him now... hasn't really settled in yet.

Ben groans. “How long will you have to stay here?”

Devi shifts her bag full of clothes and belongings closer. “Eh, until I find a new apartment.”

“Which is soon, right?”

“Sure,” she answers, and then pauses, reading his expression. Ben winces, hoping like he isn’t sounding miffed, that he isn’t coming off the wrong way. It’s not like he doesn’t want her to stay at his house, it’s that he’s _scared_ to. Because… well… it’s Devi. 

“Don’t worry, Gross. I’ll be out of your hair in no time.”

“It’s not that I don’t want you living here. It’s just that,” he gulps yet again, throat pathetically parched. “It’s been so long since we talked in person and it’s just all so sudden—”

“Sudden is our _brand._ Everything we’ve ever done has been sudden. Me moving in during sophomore year, me kissing you—all sudden.”

Ben stares at Devi from where he’s standing, cheeks immediately going crimson red. Devi on the other hand seems unbothered, with her legs kicked up onto the couch, a lack of lilts in her tone.

“Oh gee, thanks for bringing that up.” He hopes the sentence drips of sufficient sarcasm, as intended.

She rolls her eyes. “Come on, we’re not dumb teens anymore. Grow a pair.”

Ben can’t help it—he lets out a laugh, rumbling and low. “You haven’t changed a bit,” he says.

“You have. Now start calling me David or I swear to god I’ll whack you.”

 _David._ The name sends a shiver down his spine, every hair on his body shooting straight up. “We aren't teenagers anymore. I thought you hated it?”

“Eh.”

He decides not to make too much of that lackluster response, albeit his curiosity, and motions for her to follow him. “Okay, uh… I have a guest room. Never thought I’d be using it, but… here we are.”

Devi crosses her arms. “Still lonely?”

“Less lonely by a few degrees… but yes.” 

As soon as they reach the aforementioned guestroom, Devi immediately gasps at the size. It’s similar to the way she reacted to the Doobie Brothers room in sophomore year (although that reaction must have been less pleasant shock and more, _what the fuck this cannot be real_ kind of shock). “Wow, are you making big bucks from your job as a lawyer, or is this all daddy’s money?”

He shrugs off the insult. “It’s my own hard earned money, for your information,” he retorts, clutching the doorframe as he watches her saunter in. “I take pride in my money saving skills. Of course, that’s something you must have trouble with, David.” He's well aware of her spending issues—if the several online shopping hauls documented on her social media profiles isn't enough to speak for itself.

She whips around, voluminous hair flying. “You’re just stingy, dude. If you’re rich, then spend some.”

He scoffs almost immediately. Truth be told, she's right. Long gone is the teenage boy who once boasted about his family's net worth to cover up his crippling depression. (Ben really has to thank the therapists for that one). “First of all, I don’t make enough money to be classified as rich. It’s more like I’m _comfortable—_ ”

“Oh god, I hate it when you _richies_ do that. _Comfortable,_ my ass. This bedroom is bigger than my living room.”

Ben holds back a smile at that, because he does secretly agree—using the word 'comfortable' instead of 'rich' is so tacky. “Aren’t you a lawyer too?” he asks, even though he knows the answer to that is yes. 

Devi nods. Then, she plops herself onto the bed. 

“Why do you live in apartments with stoners then? Why not a house for one?”

“Feels less alone that way,” she replies, and then yawns. “Plus, I’ve always wanted to live that _Friends_ fantasy, you know what I mean?”

 _Ah._ The _Friends_ fantasy. The presumed amusement of living with someone who isn’t your blood relative. For someone like Ben, who’s been lonely for several good chunks of his life, that fantasy has never been considered a _fantasy_ for him—more like a miracle.

Maybe living with Devi will give him a small sliver of that miracle—

No, no, no. He should be counting the days until she’s _gone,_ yeah. That’s a better idea.

His gaze snaps to the alarm clock on the dresser table, the numbers _4:30_ blaring bright. “Okay. Well. Goodnight, David.”

She seems dejected. “Already sleeping?”

“Some of us have work tomorrow and have to get up at the ass crack of dawn,” he mutters grumpily, but then softens at her pout. “Anyways, the closet is yours to temporarily use, the bathroom is over there. Good fucking night.”

“Haha, I’m working from home tomorrow and you're not—” She pauses her boasting immediately once he glares at her, sinking into the mattress instead. “Goodnight.” 

Then he’s off, about to wander off into the darkness of the hallway, until he stops at the sound of jarring rustling.

“And Ben,” he hears Devi shout. “Thank you for letting me move in. Temporarily, but still.”

“We did it once,” he begins, not wanting to turn around (because then she would see the stupidly big smile on his face and that’s just embarrassing). “Why not do it again?”

After hearing a following hum, he stumbles into his own bedroom, trying to ignore the quickened beating of his heart.

 _Unbelievable_ is what this is, this whole situation. Living with Devi, with practically no advance notice. 

He should have just said no.

Then again, who is he kidding? He couldn't have said no to her even if he wanted to.

Maybe some people never really do grow apart. Primarily because the universe never lets them. 

* * *

They fall into a structure of normalcy. 

Breakfast in the morning, usually cooked by Ben, sometimes cooked by Devi when she’s in the mood to be nice. They go off to work depending on the day, and then return back in the afternoons or evenings, drinking tea while typing at their laptops. Whoever cooks dinner is decided by a game of Mario Kart (by not playing in multiplayer mode for so many days, he’s forgotten how much of a sore loser he can be).

Throughout it all, though, remains the bickering. The offhanded remarks, the well structured arguments about a movie they’re watching or a case either of them are working on. It’s all oddly reminiscent of sophomore year, the short but sweet time they spent at his house. 

He fell for her hard while she lived with him then.

It was subtle at first. His eyes wouldn’t leave her whenever he spotted her walking across the hallway. Then, it became increasingly obvious, with the way he’d always join her at the edge of the pool if she was sitting alone out of concern, or the multiple nights he would spend just talking to her, or how his heart would flutter whenever Devi fell asleep while watching a movie, her head falling against his shoulder.

It’s all kind of coming back. Except this time, it’s not just innocent, sweet, pure. His feelings are red and hot too. Blazing, like a bonfire.

And although she promised him she’d be out of his house in two weeks max, it’s been half a month yet he’s said nothing, hasn’t kicked her out yet.

It’s past two in the morning by the time he stumbles back to his house after partying with work friends, eyes half-mast and head rolling back against the wall of his front door when he gets inside. 

His legs, rather than his brain, lead him into his bedroom, and he strips down his button-up shirt and jeans, sighing in relief. Haphazardly groping towards the bed, he feels a lukewarm breeze tickle his stomach. It’s quite strange, but for some reason he assumes it to be the window he must’ve left open while checking the temperature outside this morning. 

“Too careless,” he mumbles to himself, smiling when his head hits the pillow and (thankfully) not the wall behind it. It’s then that his arm nudges something hard to his left, and the sobering voice in his majorly drunk brain tells him his bed’s been halved by a foreign presence, warm and _breathing_.

“Whatever,” he says, too drunk to care, smacking his lips and throwing an arm around the intruder, nuzzling into their curly, dandruff shampoo smelling hair.

 _Huh._ Dandruff shampoo?

“Oh, you’re back,” the person (presumably a girl) responds, rolling over into the hug, and it sounds like Devi on acid, the way her syllables move like quicksand. Ben smiles and hums into the dark anyways, breathing in the familiar musk of alcohol, and instantly falls asleep.

* * *

The next time he recovers consciousness is when it’s gotten a smidge brighter outside. He’s still dazed and heavy tongued, head throbbing like a motherfucker, and momentarily considers the possibility that he’s dreaming when he feels Devi’s bare skin pressed up against his side.

It hits him like whiplash.

“Oh no,” he mutters when he pries his eyes open, cocking his neck to peer at a very clearly unclothed Devi snoring next to him under the covers—much to his horror, his clothes are also tossed onto the floor.

“This didn’t happen,” Devi says ten minutes later, when she's awoken by the screaming. He doesn’t have time to notice how she stirs quickly, as if she’s been shocked awake by lightning, immediately scrambling up while pulling the blanket up with her—there are more important things to worry about.

Like this.

“And I was… drunk,” Ben repeats, distracted by her severe case of bedhead. 

After repeatedly yelling again (internally this time), Ben maneuvers himself off the bed with difficulty (making sure he has some garments on) while Devi does the same on the other side.

“Me too. We didn’t do anything here,” she repeats, while slipping on her T-shirt. 

Ben grits his teeth, growing increasingly aware of their dirty deed. “Why the hell were you in _my_ bedroom, on _my_ bed? None of this would have happened if you slept in your own room!” He tries to recall the moment he became aware of the other figure present in his bed, as well as why that didn’t faze him.

Then again, would he have had the nerve to push a grumpy, half-asleep Devi off the bed in the first place?

She yawns loudly. “I wanted to borrow your stupid book about legal upheaval. I fell asleep reading it on your bed I guess, which was pretty comfortable.” She thins her lips into a straight line. “I blame the book. Must have been boring as shit.”

Ben does a terrible job of trying not to gape. “You read books about _lawyerism_ while drunk?”

“No. The drunk me likes to read books about _lawyerism,_ ” she corrects with snark in her tone. “Uh, anyways, your book might be… kind of ruined.”

She gestures towards the wrangled, crinkled mess of pages lying on the floor. Ben simply shudders. Poor thing must have gotten caught in their nighttime shenanigans… speaking of which, how rambunctious did they even get to ruin a _hardcover_ book to the point of no repair?

“You’re paying for that.”

“Hey, we damaged that _together—”_

“Shut up.”

Secretly, Ben’s silently praising her for how relatively calm she’s been about this whole thing… until she squeals.

An _ear-shattering_ squeal.

“I had sex with _Ben Gross?!”_ Devi yells, in complete horror, as she runs to the living room.

Ben tries not to let it hurt his pride. He has barely any of that left anyways.

* * *

Because having drunken sex in your bed with your friend/acquaintance/roommate half asleep doesn’t feel like it should warrant anything more than an eyebrow raise and a shudder, they brush the incident aside in favor of normalcy. Going back to how things are Supposed to Be. Lots of things happen when you're single for a long time, Ben thinks, and truth is, their friendship has only _recently_ just been revived from zombie land. He’s not ready to let it perish over some stupid night.

Or two.

It’s Devi’s birthday, and she spends it with all of her favorite people minus Ben, although he honestly isn’t sure if he would’ve made the short list anyways. So Ben spends the night surfing through Netflix shows (with admittedly a little—or a lot—of whiskey shots on the side), and is just about to pull the blanket over his chin and call it a day when he hears the jolting sound of the front door closing.

Seconds later, a heavily intoxicated Devi tumbles into his room, reeking of fried meat and drunken delicacies.

“Hiii,” she coos, hair pleasantly mussed and sticking to the sides of her face, while she takes a seat beside Ben’s knees.

Immediately, her hand snakes its way under the sheet.

“David,” Ben begins, eyes widening, but who is he fucking kidding, he’s just as knocked out as she is, unable to make a well-informed decision, and so a whirlwind minute later, Devi’s helping him out of his jeans while he helps her out of hers.

The shirts stay on, her white T-shirt surreally glowing in the dark, almost angelic-like (it's funny because he knows he's going to hell for this) and his own blue flannel pajama top somehow promising that if he’s not entirely naked, this isn’t really happening.

Ben’s too buzzed to remember the details, nor recount them, but the night ends with him staring at a now dozed off Devi, something in the core of his heart dully aching.

* * *

“Fuck,” Devi says by way of greeting, slumped against the doorway. Her hair has found some way to defy the laws of gravity… which he finds way more attractive than he should. “Not again. Not a-fucking-gain.”

Ben just groans, head in his hands.

“Why does this keep on happening?”

His head snaps up. “Well, maybe if you would stop coming into my room during the night?”

“Maybe if you were sober, you could have stopped us. What type of loser drinks alone at home?”

“Uhm,” Ben says as firmly as possible, deciding not to look at the swell of her upper lip. “Not me. Usually.”

She groans in reply. “Anyways, so we both agree, right? Never again?”

He bites back any snarky remark his brain is conjuring as to not piss her off even further, in hopes that she’ll still cook breakfast this morning like she had promised. “Never again.”

* * *

It's a considerably peaceful Sunday afternoon, until Devi asks, “Am I good?” and hammers a dent in the calmness.

“Good at what?” Ben asks as he stands near the kitchen island, peeling an orange for Devi. She claims she doesn't like doing it herself because the citrus always gets in her eyes... however that's supposed to happen.

She throws an arm over the couch, peering at him over her shoulder. “The… the… the… _segs.”_

 _“Segs?”_ Ben questions, confused about the new word, but then it clicks. “Oh, uh… I don't remember anything from those two times.”

It's teetering between the edge of being a lie and being the truth, because he really _doesn't_ remember the details, like who came onto who, but what _does_ stay with him are the feelings of bliss, the highs and the lows.

So yes, he’s aware that she’s much better than good.

Devi clears her throat. “Mmh, yeah. Okay. Me neither.”

Ben staggers on his feet, silently begging her to change the topic of conversation, for he’s lost all ability to do so.

She understands. “So, what movie do you wanna watch?”

He tries not to get all choked up when she recommends _Friends with Benefits._

* * *

“You know what I hate?”

There’s a lot of things she despises, one of them being him, but he hums in question anyways.

“When you’re sitting in front of your computer, looking at websites, the news, YouTube promposals—”

“You still watch those?”

Devi glares at him. “—and then you realize that you’re feeling like shit,” she continues, slumping down into the couch. “And then, you realize you’ve been listening to a slow paced cheesy instrumental track for the past three minutes.”

She doesn’t normally talk about things like this to him, so Ben revels in the occasion. “Oh, really?”

“Yeah,” she breathes evenly. “Or when you’re listening to an album on Apple Music, right?”

“Right.”

“And there’s only one song you really like, but you don’t want to put it on repeat, because… you just don’t. I don’t know why. But you don’t. But then the song ends and you hate the next track and the one after it so you go back and replay that one song. This goes on for hours, I swear.”

Ben clicks his tongue, looking up from his phone. “Why don’t you just use the _repeat one_ function? C’mon, David.”

“Meh. I just don’t want to. Cause then I’ll get sick of that song.”

He blinks, confused. “But how is that any different than manually going back to it every three minutes?”

“Eh, it’s just a waste of money if I buy an entire album but only listen to one song.”

“Then… then can’t you just buy a singular song? Less money down the drain,” he mutters. 

“Hey, you _cannot_ be giving me advice, Mr. I-Download-Songs-from-Random-Sites-on-the-Internet-Rather-then-Buying-Them-Because-I-am-a-Stingy-Rich-Man.”

“David,” he seethes, voice coming down to a whisper as he chucks his phone onto the coffee table. “Don’t tell anyone about that, 'kay? I don’t want people thinking I’m cheap.”

“Everybody already knows you’re cheap, Gross,” she says, slipping out of her socks. 

He can’t even bring himself to be mad at that. Leniency is often a consequence of exhaustion, and Ben is too tired to argue.

“Damn, you’re right,” he gives in, and then stretches himself out on the couch, placing his legs on top of her lap.

 _Yeesh,_ bravery must also be another consequence of exhaustion.

Devi doesn’t push his limbs off though. Instead, she reaches over for the remote and turns on the TV, humming an unrecognizable song while putting on Netflix.

“Hey, we've gone a month without ending up in bed together. Maybe laying off on the alcohol was a good idea, Gross. Right?”

Ben lets his eyes fall shut, trying to avoid having to answer that question. Sleep must be God’s greatest invention.

* * *

But then a few weeks later, Trent comes back from Canada with his favorite homegrown vegetation, and an hour after they’ve parted from his apartment complex, Ben and Devi are still giggling about how 'racecar' spelled backwards is still 'racecar'.

She’s already up to her room by the time Ben locks the front door, still giggling. He trips out of his sneakers, sliding across the wooden floor and laughing hysterically now. He’s stopped by a pair of cartoon socks which don’t smell as bad as normal socks do, which clearly means it’s Devi’s, because Devi’s feet never seem to smell, unlike his own (which she gives him way too much grief for).

He doesn’t know why he thinks it would be funny if he tumbled into Devi’s room instead of his own.

And so he does, gleefully and utterly _stoned._

“What are you doing here?” asks Devi, who’s _less_ stoned. 

“Ha,” Ben slurs, blinking away the haze to see Devi’s ~~pretty~~ face better. “I don’t knowww.” He drags out the _ow_ part, unknowingly so.

Devi’s wearing the set of pajamas Fabiola gifted her for her birthday, pink and grey striped like a Hershey’s Kiss, and Ben grins, toppling over and onto the bed before he knows it.

“I want to _nom_ you,” he says, clutching his stomach awfully tight because it _hurts_ to laugh now, and Devi’s staring blankly, not quite discouraging or encouraging. More in the middle.

“You want to _what_ me?”

“Eat you!” Ben bellows gleefully. “I want to eat you!”

Devi’s eyes narrow before she pulls him in closer, taking his shirt off—like magic!!—and giggling with him.

Once again too buzzed to remember the details, all Ben really thinks he’ll remember is the _after._

The _afterwards_ of rolling over deliciously sore but also painfully aware of the reality that’s rapidly settling in, the fact that he just—they just—they both—for the _third_ fucking time, and that it’s opening a bunch of other airtight sealed feelings that have been simmering since she told him off for correcting her essay in the fifth grade.

He wonders whether it’s all just a ghastly coincidence that this keeps on happening, that they happen to be near each other right when they’re out of it and in need of the deed, or whether there’s something more between the lines.

Deeper than that is the high school evocation they’ve been stuck in, the inability to move on from Malibu. Devi dated Paxton, Ben got back together with Shira, only for both to break up by senior year. And senior year was time spent wasted, with them just dancing around each other—awfully out of character for two people who were always blunt with one another.

What Ben doesn't realize also stays in his memory of these nights are the feelings— of how right it feels to be doing these things with Devi. Of how good it feels.

How perfect it feels.

Perfect.

* * *

“So,” Devi rasps, chest heaving off the mattress the next morning. “This is becoming a pattern.”

“Maybe so,” comes Ben’s voice, face hidden under the blanket in shame after Devi’s short recounting of how loudly he expressed his desire to _eat her._

“Maybe living with each other wasn’t the best idea,” he says, slowly peeking over the fabric when he’s brave enough to look her in the eyes. Devi just runs a hand through the strands of her hair, shrugging.

“I kinda like it though. Living with you.”

“Hm.” He's always wondered whether they'd ever be completely honest with one another about... feelings.

Devi wilts. “But I’ll move out this weekend.”

And so there it is, his answer. Him and Devi will forever be skirting around each other, doing whatever their hearts desire, _sans_ a label.

Or.

Or he could just ask her out and end it here. Because, does he really want her to leave? Not really. He could ask her to live with him, he's painfully certain he wouldn’t mind it. He wouldn’t mind waking up to the smell of dandruff shampoo every morning—

 _Nah._ That option is a bit too gutsy for cowardly Ben. 

So, instead, all he mutters back is a dejected “okay.”

* * *

“Was Paxton a good boyfriend?”

Ben wants to hit himself the second after the words come tumbling out of his mouth, but then again, they’ve been lying on the floor of his living room in complete silence for far too long, staring up at a DIY planetarium made with bright flashlights and cut out paper stars.

“Yeah,” she says. “But we didn’t work. No matter how hot of a couple we were.”

“Spare me the sexy details,” he groans.

Devi’s laugh sounds sharper than usual. Harsh, ringing at that decibel just below intolerable. “Puh-lease, our relationship had no emotional substance. Or like, it was there, but neither of us wanted to _go_ there, you know?”

“So you can have sex with someone, but opening up emotionally to them is crossing the line?”

She smacks his chest with the back of her hand, and it rests there, quick and for barely a moment. “Pretty much.”

“Plus, I feel like I only ever saw him as this unattainable, beautiful thing,” she adds on, quiet. “He’s like a doll you see behind the glass window, and you’re like, _what the hell is going on? Why is that doll so fucking beautiful?_ And you’re sure you can’t afford the doll, you’re not even sure if you really _want_ it, but you walk by the same store from then on everyday anyways, just so you can see it. You know what I mean?”

“David,” Ben says, but he can’t quite think up words to say after her peculiar analogy, that doesn't make sense but somehow completely makes sense. 

“What?”

“You’re so... _strange._ ”

Devi’s cackle practically hurts. “I know. Ever since my dad died, it’s fucked me up.”

“Hmm.” Ben makes a thinly sound in his throat, pondering on comforting her like a normal person, but decides against it. “You were strange before that too,” he says instead, turning his head so that his cheek is touching the cold floor. Thankfully, she snorts at his comment.

“Life is strange in general, isn’t it? I mean, they tell you that you’ll have everything figured out by the time you hit your twenties but… that’s just not the case. You know? I mean…”

“Hmm.”

“Ben,” she pushes her weight onto her elbows, nudging his cheek with one finger. Her nail digs into his cheek. “Are you awake?”

“Hm—yeah. Yes.” Ben wipes a sliver of unsuspecting drool from his chin. That’ll cover it up.

“You have no idea what I’m talking about, do you?”

“Not really,” Ben admits. “But I'm listening.”

Devi’s finger rests on his cheek, as she softly brings it down to cup the side of his face. “I kind of lost track too.”

Ben cracks a smile, covers her hand with his, and then all goes black.

He doesn’t remember falling asleep, but he wakes up with his fingers still curled around Devi’s hand, and lets out a sigh of relief when they’re not naked.

Allowing himself to steal one glance at her, he studies her expression while asleep. Sullen, yet beautiful.

It makes him feel warm.

* * *

Devi doesn’t know how to respect someone else’s privacy. 

This is made evidently clear when she barges into his bathroom, demanding for his deodorant, all while he barely has anything covering his body (other than a white towel bashfully covering his waist down).

She eyes him for the rest of the day after that, gaze lingering on his chest when he reaches for the coffee powder in the top high cabinet, or when he does his regular workout of the day.

He’s all sweaty and sore when Devi comes knocking on his room, smug and… wearing some awfully short shorts.

Damn, she does have really nice legs.

Ben pats his face and then neck with a towel. “What’s up?”

“Oh, nothing,” she drawls, leaning against the doorframe in a manner that makes his head spin. “I’m just… bored.”

“Bored.” Ben deadpans, and then tosses his towel at her, her expression immediately shifting into that annoyance he’s more comfortable with. 

“Hey,” she tries again, now nearing closer to him, bravely gripping his forearm. “Wanna go for a fourth round?”

His forehead crinkles in confusion. “Fourth round of what— _oh._ ”

It’s an immediate no, he knows it, and Devi can tell by the way he flinches away from her too. “Oh come on, please?” she whines.

“No! We can’t start doing this stuff while sober. Then it’s way harder to move past it like it’s nothing. Plus, getting consent from the other party is something very important to me, and the past three times we've... done the deed have been a little _problematic._ ”

“But what we have isn’t _nothing—_ ” She stops herself there, biting her bottom lip. “Ugh, fine, you’re right.”

He watches her saunter away, eyes lingering longer on her legs than they should be. Seconds later, he wonders if it was a stupid idea, turning down a girl he very obviously kinda-sorta likes. 

But hey, someone needs to be level-headed, right?

The more minutes pass, the more he regrets his decision. _Fuck,_ he thinks. He deserves a medal for that.

* * *

“This is very uncomfortable,” Devi says, hurling the extra pillow over Ben’s stomach. It hits the ground with a light thud.

“David, you have your own bed.” It’s a sentiment he’s expressed to her far too many times since she’s moved in.

“But I’m lonely,” she complains, snuggling up to his warmth.

There’s truth there, nestled between the lines and contours of their bodies and cotton shirts, just touching.

“Okay. But only tonight,” he says, tentatively giving into the warm hug. He clears his throat, memories of sophomore year rushing back to him, the distinct memory of exhilarating, newfound feelings that weren’t all that _newfound,_ just repressed.

Ben has things he wants to say to her, and it’s now or never. But he’s never been good at being brave.

Then again... fuck it. 

“You know, I—I never really, we never talked that much after Malibu. Or we didn’t, up until recently. You know, the past couple of months, I guess. So I never told you, like, if you ever needed—I mean, I want to be there, if you need it. I want to be there, er, for you. Even though it seems like I don’t. Care. I do, though. A considerable amount.”

Devi snores against his chest, drool seeping through his shirt.

Ben sighs.

* * *

“What the fuck,” he mutters when he notices his shirt is off, and that he’s in his bed, Devi tucked right underneath his arm.

She stirs in record time. “Wait, did we—”

“I don’t know,” he replies, and now he's certain he's going to cry. No, really, how was that even possible? He doesn’t remember anything in the slightest of... _that_ happening. 

“We weren’t even drunk,” she mutters, slowly straightening her spine.

“Not even… not even high?”

She wafts the air for the smell of _vegatation_ , and then shakes her head. “Nope.”

Ben groans, holding his head in his hands, but then realizes that Devi is still fully clothed. “Wait a minute,” he starts, scratching his head for some memory. And then it flashes through, the distinct remembrance of taking off his shirt because it was soaked in drool. “I don’t think we did it.”

Devi looks down at her body, and wiggles her toes when she notices her socks are still on. “Huh. Oh yeah. I like how we just assumed that… I won’t finish that sentence.”

He lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, shaking off the last dregs of tepid shame. “Thank god.”

“Anyways,” she mutters, helping to make the bed while eyeing Ben. “It's ridiculous how I still haven't found an apartment yet. Damn skyrocketing apartment prices.”

Ben resists the urge to comment on the fact that he knows she's purposely been putting it off, that he's aware of the ripped apartment listings he's seen while taking out the trash. If anything, it makes him happy—the insinuation that she _wants_ to live with him is one he's content with.

“By the way, Fabiola agreed to let me stay at her apartment from tomorrow onwards, while I find a new apartment.”

 _Oh._ Something in his heart kind of cracks at the reminder that the weekend is already here. Usually, Ben would be aware of this kind of stuff. He’s the type to mark down the days of a calendar, the Mondays, Tuesdays, Wednesdays, Thursdays, Fridays of it all, and be painfully aware of the amount of time remaining till the weekend.

Ever since Devi’s started living with him, things have been a lot more… loose. He’s stopped heeding time, because it flies so damn fast when he’s with her. He doesn’t care whether there are two days to go till the weekend or five—as long as he’s spending it with Devi.

 _Euck._ That was awfully cheesy.

“So, uh. Yeah. I will miss living with you, though. Never in my life have I abused the use of a dishwasher that many times.”

Ben laughs, but it’s agonizing. “I’ll miss you too. It was nice living with another human being.”

She grins fondly, but then her gaze snaps down. “I guess I’ve overstayed my welcome… two weeks turned into four months. Sorry about that.”

It’s hard to conjure up a half-assed reply to that, so he silently stares instead. Studies the curves and dents and bridges of her face, as if it’ll be the last time.

“Anyways. So. Yeah. Those are my plans for tomorrow.”

“Or,” he finds his voice cracking, like a prepubescent teenager, and it nearly sends him into a spiral of shame.

He doesn’t know if he hallucinates her lighting up. “Or?”

Ben doesn’t know what exactly he was going to say… he does, but he’s too scared to actually speak the words out loud. But then again; _it’s now or never._

“Or we could go out and have dinner and I’ll pay,” he mumbles hurriedly, all at once.

Devi blinks. Once, and then twice, before the tension in her face seeps out and she cracks into a wide smile.

"You mean a date?"

"Uh… technically… yeah. If you wanna call it that."

The beats of silence remain unbearable for Ben, who’s nervously twiddling his fingers in hopes that the bones will snap and he’ll die, because that’s a better outcome than getting rejected by Devi fucking Vishwakumar. 

Then, she laughs. “Finally, you wuss! I’ve been waiting for you to ask me that.”

Ben gapes. “What?”

“I’ve been sending you hints for the past few weeks, _god,_ ” she says, as she climbs over the bed to face him, inches apart.

“You… you like me too?”

“Ben, this isn’t middle school anymore! Come the fuck on. I’ve liked you since Malibu, really, I just never wanted to admit it.”

He tries not to let his jaw hit the floor as she circles her arms around his neck, slinking in closer and closer. “Well, isn’t that convenient?”

She smirks. “I guess so.”

“Wait,” he pauses, looking at her with scrunched eyebrows. “Does this mean you’ll be living with me for longer?”

“Duh. Until we break up,” she responds, and then widens her eyes. “Not that we will, but theoretically—hypothetically—ugh. You’re supposed to be the one bad at words, not me.”

He doesn’t make much of her insult, just laughs it off instead.

This time when he kisses her, he’s glad he’s not buzzed, that he can remember every detail of the way her mouth moves against his. Because it’s something he doesn’t ever want to forget.

* * *

“You’ve been doing a lot of laundry lately,” notes Marcus, his lawyer friend who also happens to be his usual accompaniment to the local laundromat place.

The vision of strewn clothes—crinkled, sticky clothes—tossed onto the floor of his bedroom come to mind, and his face heats up. 

“Spring cleaning,” Ben says, avoiding eye contact while unloading his basket into the washing machine.

“It’s summer.”

**Author's Note:**

> please leave a kudos or a comment (i try to always reply!) if you enjoyed this! it would make me and my ever so non-existent ego very happy :D 
> 
> find me on tumblr at @mellarkably <3


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